Knock 'em Dead
by Tsume Yuki
Summary: With the Girl-Who-Lived missing, there was no one to stop Tom Riddle's return in 1993. However, upon heading to Little Hangleton, he wasn't expecting to find the Gaunt Shack occupied. Especially by one Harriet Lily Potter. FemHarry and Necromancer Harry. TMR/HP
1. The Girl Necromancer

**Knock 'em Dead**

_**Prologue  
**__The Girl Necromancer_

_x_

_31__st__ May 1993  
_Gaunt Shack  
Little Hangleton

* * *

Tom Marvolo Riddle was not in the least bit pleased.

Oh yes, he was finally free from that damn diary, and yes, he was certainly now able to interact with the physical world, as it long ago should have been.

But no, what Tom Riddle was beyond upset with, was that someone was trespassing upon his ancestral ground.

Without doubt the Gaunt Shack was just as the name implied, a gaunt looking, run-down shack far from the rest of civilized society. He remembered visiting this just before the start of his sixth year, just before he sealed his memories away in the diary in the form of a Horcrux. He'd been planning to store another Horcrux here, his second one that he'd taken from the despicable, useless excuse of a wizard, that was his maternal uncle. But he hadn't expected this.

Upon approaching the Gaunt Shack, he was fully expecting there to be a multitude of wards around the place, maybe a hundred or so snakes standing guard. That'd been the rough plan.

Well, there was certainly snakes standing guard. However, they quite happily approached him, hissing and slithering about in confusion.

"_What are you doing?_"

"_Another Speaker! What are you doing here Speaker? Must tell the Death Speaker..._"

And just like that several of the snakes made their way back to the well hidden shack, leaving Tom half crouched on the ground and completely flummoxed as to what had just happened. His ears were trying to tell him that there was not only a squatter in the Gaunt Shack, but that this squatter spoke the snake tongue too. But he'd never heard of a 'Death Speaker' before.

Regardless, it never stopped him making his way to the shack, pushing open the door that should have been worn and old, but was instead new and heavily fortified with charms. Charms that seemed to have been deactivated mere seconds ago to allow him entrance.

.

The first thing Tom Marvolo Riddle, the last descendant of the House of Gaunt noticed, was that the Gaunt house was no longer in dire need of repairs. It could almost be considered cosy. Certainly homely, far more homely, than it had ever been before. It looked like someone had been living here for a while, because there was a great number of things being used.

There was a bed over in the corner of the main room, clearly constructed from some trees that looked like they'd been dragged in from outside and hastily chopped away at. The blanket was thick, clearly meant for a winter's night, which was perhaps why it was currently gathered at the foot of the bed. There was even a cauldron hanging over a fire pit in the center of the room, a stew like scent wafting through the air which unfortunately, smelt mightily good to his empty stomach.

What was perhaps most noticeable though, was the girl curled up before the cauldron, who'd paused halfway through throwing in a chopped up carrot. Her hair was a dark mess that ran down the length of her back, untill it stopped just upon touching the floor. She was sat with her legs curled beneath her, an inquisitive frown upon her face as with her free hand she brushed back one of the... trinkets that was woven into her hair. And there were several.

He could see the fang of an Ashwinder hanging beside her cheekbone from one thread of hair and what he was pretty sure were a good few strands of unicorn hair plaited in. There were two feathers, one from a Hippogriff and one that had perhaps belonged to an Augurey before it had found it's new home. There was a form of Egyptian bead hanging on the opposite side of the face from the Ashwinder fang, and if he was guessing correctly by the origins of the other hair ornaments, then it was quite possible this decoration had come from a Sphinx. Perhaps the most worrying thing about the girl though, was her companion. For he was sure that it was a Lethifold that was currently curled up around her feet, it's wraith like form seeming content to remain in place.

"Hi, I hope you don't mind that I've been crashing here for the past six years. My name's Harry and I'll get thrown in Azkaban if I don't hide, because being a Necromancer is apparently illegal."

Tom, thoroughly thrown by the girl's odd demeanour, inspected her face with a tad more attention, taking in the startlingly green eyes, and then finally, the lightning bolt scar upon her forehead. Oh.

It appeared he'd found the missing Girl-Who-Lived. And she was a Necromancer.

Well, maybe he wasn't so unhappy any more.

* * *

_**So, I've had a few people tell me I don't have many romance centered stories. I don't know how well I can write them, so I'll try my best with this. But just to be safe, this is an Adventure/Romance, in which FemHarry is a Necromancer. Her full name being Harriet Lily Potter-Peverell. So, erm, I hope you stick around for the rest of this? **_

_**While this here Prologue is short, I'm aiming for the chapter length of about 5,000-7,000 words coming up next.**_

_**Thanks for reading,**_

_**Tsume**_  
_**xxx**_


	2. Nothing Better To Do

**Knock 'em Dead**

_**Chapter 1  
**__Nothing Better To Do_

_x_

_24th June 1995  
_Gaunt Shack  
Little Hangleton

* * *

When she'd been a child, Harriet Potter had often been informed that she appeared to talk to herself. Or rather, that was how it'd looked to every other person that was around her. Instead, Harriet had always been in deep discussion with a select few spirits that surrounded her on a daily basis. For Harriet Potter was a necromancer, and had been one from the day she was born. For years she'd had not only her parents, but the most famous of all necromancers, the Peverell Brothers, whispering in her ear.

At seven, under the suggestion of her pseudonym-guardians, she'd left the Dursley's. Following the instructions of her ancestor Ignotus Peverell, she'd travelled through the shadows of their house and popped out in a small village known as Little Hangleton. From then on, she'd been living all on her own, having taken up residency in an old shack. According to Cadmus, the middle Peverell brother, it had been the last home of his direct descendants. Harry -for she had abandoned Harriet back at Privet Drive- had always thought that a bit sad, how the family of such an amazing person had faded into nothingness.

Cadmus had apparently been following the last descendant around, until he'd tried to kill her and died himself in the act. Or, as close to death as the man could have gotten. Ever since, he'd been following her, especially when he realized she could see him.

Ignotus, her ancestor, had been following her father, right up until the day she'd been born. Then he too had started following her around when he realized she'd gotten their gift, that the Peverell Necromancy trait had once again appeared in the wizarding world.

Antioch had been the last one to join her, when the one who carried his wand, the wand he'd ended up dying over, had dropped her off at the Dursleys. He'd seen his two brothers together for the first time in years and had decided to stick about, especially when he was fully informed.

With the trio being former necromancers themselves, they could always be beside her, unlike her parents, whom had no idea of the death arts and were thus only able to speak with her upon the very night they'd be killed. Once a year, and only ever on their Death Day. Still, it was better than nothing. True, she was now trained enough in the arts herself to summon the two, but... Now she hesitated.

For she no longer stood on the same side of the war they'd died fighting for. While the Peverell's assured her they would stand by her, that they wouldn't want her fighting for a side that would throw her away the second she was done, Harry didn't want to chance the disappointment of possibly talking to the long enough for the war to come up.

.

From the day she'd first moved into the Gaunt Shack she'd been fixing it up, calling up spirits with experience in the crafts. A charm's mistress that had died not too far away from here was more than happy to help her ward the door and fix most of the walls. A carpenter who'd been rather famous in the very village she lived in for his wood-work two hundred years ago had been overjoyed to help walk her through how to make a bed from the trees outside, seeing as the ones the shack came with had been eaten away by termites.

Of course, the Peverell brothers had kept up her education, telling her all about magic, all about the different powers that came with her gift of necromancy. She'd gotten a wand from Diagon, after dying her hair blonde the muggle way. The wand-maker had seemed a little alarmed at the one she'd gotten -Holly, Phoenix Feather core- and Ignotus had whispered for her to give him a different name. So she did.

And then she'd disappeared, warding the Gaunt Shack with the help of the three brothers to live her life and develop her magic in peace, shortly after summoning the Death Cloak to her. A magical artefact given to her ancestor by Death itself. She'd been able to summon it as the rightful owner, and the ring had already been in her new home. So she owned two hallows, and was content with her life.

That had all changed when she'd been two months off of her thirteenth year, and the beautiful boy, Tom Marvolo Riddle, had walked in on her making stew. He'd spoken pretty words in her ear, tried twisting her to see that his cause was right. But he hadn't needed to, for Harry would have never fought for the Light, seeing as they threw people like her away. He didn't seem to realize she shared his view, and it'd amused her for a week before he'd finally caught on.

From there, he'd been talking her into actively fighting for the cause. Antioch had pointed out this would eventually bring her face to face with Dumbledore, the current owner of his wand. And then she'd have a chance to complete her collection. Ignotus was hesitant of getting greedy, while Cadmus insisted she do it both for herself and for all the future necromancers everywhere, be they born or taught. While a taught necromancer would never be as powerful as one born, that didn't mean that people didn't want to learn.

Tom had certainly seemed open to the idea of learning a few things, in exchange for some Parselmagic. She'd never full out agreed to fight for his cause, but then again, she'd never said no either. He was half a soul, no where near complete. She knew there was a bit of him that rested inside her, located in her scar. But she'd never breathed a word of it aloud since they'd met. All three Peverell brothers seemed to think it was best to keep hold of it as a trump card.

So Harry had just smiled and taught Tom as best she could with the time she had. She'd never stopped living as she had before Tom turned up though, she'd still gone about her daily routine and had her lessons with the Peverell brothers, who Tom had now advanced enough to actually see.

When they wanted him to that was.

.

"Something's happening in the graveyard."

Looking up from where she'd been hunched over trying to charm two mirrors into a linking pair, Harry blew a strand of hair back from her face and glanced over at Tom. The older teen was stood by the only clear window, peering out with confusing thick on his brow. When the older boy had first moved in and joined her here in the Gaunt Shack, he'd not been too pleased with their accommodations. He'd almost forced her out into the manor house on the top of the hill overlooking the village. Right up until she'd pointed out they'd draw far less attention out here, and that she'd already put up all these charms and safe-guards on the place.

Eventually Tom had consented to her view, but that didn't mean he'd been sat ideally by.

Instead, he'd charmed the window himself to act like a telescope, only it could see through objects, exceedingly helpful considering there was a good bit of dense woodland around the shack.

It was mid-day, the sun shining in through the window and lighting up the room around them. Tom was drumming his fingers across the windowsill, a thoughtful frown upon his face as he contemplated whatever it was going around in his brain. Harry had long since come to the conclusion the other boy was a lot smarter than her, but that didn't mean she was useless. Just that Tom's brain dealt with information better than her own did. It didn't mean she wasn't any good at magic.

"It looks like someone's setting up for a potion, or maybe a ritual... Yes, it looks much more like a ritual." Running a hand across the back of his neck, Tom gathered up his loose hair, tying it back with a leather cord. It'd only just gotten long enough to gather at the nap of his neck and was clearly irritating him, if the way he kept looking between her and the pair of scissors on the worn kitchen worktop was any indication. Antioch and Cadmus had a bet going on how long it would take the Parselmouth to snap and ask her to cut his hair. As always when the three brothers had a bet going, Harry did her damn best not to get involved in a way that she could influence the outcome.

"Should we take the cloak and check it out?" Harry asked, lifting the silvery piece of fabric that was always nestled over her shoulders in the daytime.

The Peverell ring rested upon her finger. She'd spent two weeks where she and the three dead Necromancers had been scratching their heads over how to get the curse off of the ring. It still housed a bit of soul, but now it wouldn't kill her when she wore it. Tom never looked happy when he caught sight of it, but seemed to begrudgingly allow it, if only so she wouldn't see any reason to start doubting him. Apparently born necromancers were rare. Not like she didn't know that already.

"Only if we're both under some masking spells," Tom finally murmured, levelling the wand he'd taken from Ginny Weasley -and hadn't that been a story to frown over- at Harry's body.

"Should I pack sandwiches?"

.

It was half an hour later, under multiple spells and holding a sandwich each, that the duo made their way to the village graveyard. It was obviously under heavy muggle repellents; outside the grounds several people had approached to pay their respects, only to turn away when they got too close. Tom had sneered at them as they passed by, while Harry had just continued to pay attention to where they were walking, ignoring the press of Tom's taller body against her side. The cloak was just big enough for the two of them to fit under with Tom hunched forwards slightly, and now that his physical body was eighteen, he'd hopefully stopped growing. Otherwise these kind of adventures would grind to a halt.

Harry didn't see herself getting bigger than the five foot four she found herself at right now, even if her mother had insisted in her last visit she'd probably continue growing till she was at least sixteen. She almost hoped she did, so that she was at least taller than Tom's shoulder. It was probably a worthless hope though, her mother wasn't very tall herself after all, and James Potter wasn't the most towering of men.

Then again, she drew less attention when she stood next to Tom's tall form. The older boy held a very commanding presence, one she wasn't afraid to take advantage of. So what if during their short time together the Dursley's had drilled it into her not to present her oddities to the world. To not stand out.

Antioch had once proclaimed her damaged, which had led to a fist fight between both him and Ignotus while the middle brother had just looked on, casually commenting on the blows thrown about.

Harry wasn't stupid, she knew for a fact that she'd taken a few psychological hits from her living family, but it wasn't something that could just be fixed. The dead didn't really care to try and change the attitude of the living, they just liked having someone to talk to. And while the Peverell Brother's were pretty much her advisors, certain set backs came with this. For one, the dead simply just didn't care anymore. Oh sure, they had a fondness for her, a desire to see her continue to live, if only for the fact they'd have someone to talk to and interact with.

However, that didn't change the fact they held no modest at all. They were happy enough to discuss any topic, and when she said any topic, Harry meant any topic. She'd once met Herpo the Foul, and had been made to endure the man's rant upon the perfection of a Horcrux, other than the fact, you know, it hadn't stopped him from being killed. And he'd gone a bit over the top when he'd described, in full detail, the extent of his crimes. And while that'd have probably been nice to know for the authority that had been around when the man was alive, it wasn't so great hundreds of years in the future. Although she had learnt a good few curses for the man, so maybe he'd not been as horrendously bad a visitor as he could have been.

Some visiting spirits liked to make her jump through hoops before they'd part with their information, from informing their families where they'd been buried -anonymously of course- to leading her on a vast treasure hunt through the country, only to end up right back where they started. Irritating, but she probably had the greatest variety of 'dead spells' than any other person on the planet, seeing as how necromancers had been hunted to near extinction by the Light.

Of course, these weren't the only problems her upbringing had brought upon her life. She had no idea how to interact with people who could actually deal her a great deal of damage. Sure spirits could touch her, but it was only like a swat to the head. They couldn't break bones, cut skin or anything dangerous other than dangle her upside down from her ankles.

So when Tom had arrived, there'd been a great many times when she'd accidentally said something that her trio of dead necromancers had later informed her to be 'hurtful'. It was incredibly difficult to hurt the feelings of a dead person, so it'd come as a surprise the first few times Tom had put her through a wall for saying something -or in that one memorable case, repeating words from the spirit of his dead father- she shouldn't have. She'd gotten a lot better at not speaking her mind like that now, but everyone had the occasional slip ups. Tom himself would mutter under his breath that she had no self preservation or nor any tact, along with his own insults that just slipped off her back like water. Harry wasn't quite sure what upset Tom more, whenever she accidentally insulted him, or when he returned the favour and his harsh words didn't so much as faze her.

Regardless, she'd eventually get the hang of this interacting face to face with the living business at some point. She hoped.

.

Tom was right, there was a ritual being set up. Harry herself had only done a handful, and all of those had been to do with necromancy, so she didn't quite recognise the one she was looking at now, other than the fact it was to do with binding a spirit. To what, she wasn't quite sure, but Tom seemed to think it was Voldemort -his older self- making an attempted comeback. Again.

There was an exceedingly large cauldron, perhaps as tall her waist and just as wide, sat upon a low burning fire. There was also a man, of rather plump proportions, scuttling around and preparing the potion with painstaking accuracy. He was nowhere near the best the males of humanity had to offer, he was no taller than Harry, with thinning hair and watery, almost colourless eyes. Tom seemed to think so too, if his not so impartial grimace was anything to go by.

However, as desperate as Voldemort was it wasn't like the man, spirit, ghost or whatever he was at this moment in time, could afford to be picky. The two of them could offer their help actually, but judging by the fact Tom had taken hold of her elbow and guided her down till the both of them were sat upon the dew ridden grass, he didn't have much to contribute towards his older self's revival. Either that, or he was testing the man, to make sure he could actually do what he was intending.

Tom gave a gentle flick of his wand, summoning up a dome of silence around the both of them, close enough so that no one could accidentally step into it, but far enough away from their forms of that they could fidget as the urge hit them.

"So, will it work?" Harry asked, tilting her head to a side while she observed a fragile looking, small being yell at the plump man.

Beside her, Tom took a bite of his sandwich, chewing thoughtfully while his dark blue eyes took in all that was before him. Harry watched the sharp angle of his jaw-line move about with curious eyes, fingers picking slightly at the crusts of her own sandwich. Tom was rather pretty.

When her mother had given her the talk upon the ninth anniversary of her death, Harry hadn't truly understood everything. Oh, she'd gotten the fact basic concept of reproduction, it was essential for the survival of the human race after all, there were few people who didn't want another part of themselves running around, even if you had to pair up with another person to see it happen. What Harry didn't get was the whole choosing the person process, at least, not until recently. It was only after spending some time with Tom that she'd come to realize why people would go after someone specific. If you were poor, you wanted someone rich who'd be able to look after your offspring. If you were weak, you wanted someone strong to look after you and the children. Someone pretty because you were ugly, and thus the offspring would hopefully come out somewhat attractive. It was pretty obvious in that regard.

What Harry had struggled with was the concept of attractiveness. What made someone attractive? She didn't know. Cadmus had said it was a idea created by a collective group who would decide that yes, dark hair was better than blond. Sharp angles better than soft. Dark eyes instead of light. Essentially it came down to the fact that since Harry had never been in a group with other girls, she'd never got into discussions on the attractiveness of the male race, and thus, didn't know quite what she was looking for. It wasn't until recently that, when she'd gone into the village to get groceries using muggle money she'd charmed into existence, that she'd really started to look at people and start assessing their appearance. And as more time went on, the more she'd come to the conclusion that Tom was the best that Little Hangleton had to offer.

Her mother, upon visiting last Halloween had agreed he was very beautiful, but she'd also pushed the fact Harry really needed to look at other aspects too. Like personality. Wealth meant nothing to her, because she was the heiress to the Potters and Peverells, so she didn't need anyone to be rich for her. She was reasonably powerful as well, but was hesitant to settle for anyone weak. Why should she? Her mother and father -who still didn't like Tom at all, compared to Lily Potter's rightful weariness of the boy- insisted that she was worthy of the best person out their. So all Harry had to do was find him.

The Peverell brothers had once made the mistake of muttering aloud how if Harry had been born in their time, she'd have already been married and probably with child by now. Her father had started a fight, and gotten royally beaten up by the two older brothers whilst Ignotus had just watched on. Times had changed since they'd lived, her ancestor recognised that, but it was hard to go with the change when one was not experiencing it themselves. So the necromancers were somewhat upset she'd agreed to her father's 'no marrying till your of age' rule, Harry hadn't seen the harm in it. After all, the man had given his life for her to live. She supposed she could agree to this one thing.

However she refused to strike Tom's name from the list of potential partners just because her father was still annoyed over the man's methods of going about change.

Harry didn't understand why he clung to the emotions from life, all throughout history there'd been revolutions, hundreds died because people wanted rightful change. This was just another in a long line. Some could claim that humanity had evolved since the last great revolution, but Harry disagreed. There would never come a point where change wouldn't be a good thing when the crucial moment was past and one was looking back. Eventually people would conform to the new regime, taking on the beliefs of those who'd won and over time it would become the new norm until the next big change came about.

James Potter, bless his soul, was still thinking small scale. It'd be a while, but after he'd been dead long enough he'd take on the same mindset as every other older ghost and spirit. They couldn't really affect the world of the living, so would eventually come to accept everything that passed by.

"I think it's got a good chance."

Blinking back to the present, Harry realized she'd been staring for quite a while at Tom, and by the boy's bemused look, he seemed to have realized it too. Of all the books she'd read and the human interaction she'd observed, most people would be blushing right now, and Harry wasn't that much of an exception. However, she refused to be embarrassed about it. She'd been assessing him and there was little point in being subtle about it. For one, she'd always been blunt in whatever manner of thing she was doing, and two, Tom was still not finished teaching her Occlumency, and would probably end up getting enough information to figure out what she was thinking. He'd grumbled several times that she didn't think the same as other people and had often loudly proclaimed talking to the dead had ruined her understanding of the living past the basic interactions, but Harry thought she wasn't doing too bad in that regard.

After all, Tom had put up with her for near two years now and wasn't exactly planning to let her run off. Nor had he himself run from her.

"So Voldemort will rise again today and you'll join his war effort?"

Tom hummed, nodding slightly and brushing the non existent crumbs from his trousers. Harry finally took a bite of her own lunch, chewing slowly as she mulled over her current thoughts. She'd never been in a war before, or really fought outside of getting constantly beaten by Tom in spars.

"Yes I shall. Will you be joining me?"

"I don't think I'll be able to do much fighting, but I suppose I could stick with you. After all, I've put two years of effort into getting you to understand real necromancy and I'd hate to start with a new person who doesn't really understand how I work."

Tom's smile was just a little bit worrying in the possessive glint in his eyes. Ignotus had warned her that the boy would use and abuse her powers whenever he got the slightest of opportunities, so Harry was always on guard. But she had spoke the truth. She had, almost an understanding with Tom, and wasn't willing to throw that away because she was going into an unknown situation. Because apparently, unknown situations were what life was all about apparently.

The dead would know.

.

They sat watching the ritual preparation for several hours, rain sliding down the cloak as the clouds burst above them, Tom having applied a notice-me-not charm. That'd been one problem of not attending official schooling, the fact she'd only been able to pick up selections of spell-work outside of her necromancer studies. If she ever managed to summon up a shade that had some knowledge of spell-work, it was always tricky to get them to stick around under her powers whilst she was also trying to learn from them.

It wasn't until Tom came that she'd gotten a regular set of lessons, between the boy's own research and lessons in necromancy. Her knowledge would probably be best compared to a patch-work quilt, sometimes she had a handful of painful dark spells, for example the heart burning curse, and then she'd have an equally good understanding of cleaning charms. Tom had snorted, rolled his eyes, but simply sent off for the books she'd need to start fixing the holes in her spell-work. Considering that he had no doubt been thinking up many plans for his revolution/hostile take over bid, Harry had let it slip by. She knew that Tom was a big thinker, that he had and would do great things, so she didn't push too hard. Saw no need to.

Harry let her eyes rove around the graveyard before she spotted a new comer who looked quite confused. At least the rain had stopped, leaving a fine mist upon the ground.

"Looks like it's starting."

Tom would probably have rolled his eyes at her statement, if it weren't for the fact he was so focused upon the little performance before him. Harry had heard about plays before, a sixteenth century ghost had happily told her all about them, so she was quite aware that what was happening before her could very well belong on a stage touring the country. It was certainly dramatic enough, what with the tying up of the innocent person and the whole forcible taking of blood thing they had going on.

Tom didn't seem to appreciate it though when she voiced her thoughts aloud if the glare were anything to go by.

Placing one elbow on her knee, Harry dropped her head into her palm, watching with lukewarm interest as the figure, the very pale and naked figure, rose up from the cauldron. It's voice was high and chilly, nothing like the smooth timbre of Tom's tones. They were fundamentally different people, for they'd experienced different situations and grown differently as a result. Tom made an interesting noise in the back of his throat as several people apperated in, wearing long dark robes with bone white masks. They were quite frightening to look at, Harry supposed, if one did not talk to the dead daily. She'd met people with their inners ripped out and thrown around them like the latest fashionable appeal. Though that really wasn't a look that the living could pull off she supposed.

The pale snake like creature that was Lord Voldemort paced back and forth before the boy he'd captured, whom she later learnt to be named 'Longbottom', before he duelled him and by some stroke of luck -so Tom insisted beneath his breath- got away with the nearby port-key. It was at this point the snake like creature, her parents killer but the man that fought for the rights of all that was dark such as herself, lost his temper.

Both she and Tom raised a brow, the latter slowly getting to his feet and letting the cloak drop from around his form. He stood tall, his hands clasped behind his back and a pleasant smile upon his face, clearly believing he had the situation in hand. Harry stood too, for she trusted Tom, if not to look out for her best interests, then to keep her safe simply because she was useful. He was, after all, the person she trusted most among the living. The cloak that Death had once gifted Ignotus pooled around the hand she caught it in, slowly standing next to her companion. Tom began to slowly stride forwards towards the group that were all but quivering before their master and Harry jogged quickly to keep up with his long legs.

Perhaps wanting to grow a bit wasn't such a bad idea after all.

.

It took Lord Voldemort but a second to realize they were no longer alone in the graveyard of his rebirth, and the second he did the yew spell-caster was pointed right at Tom, which had the boy been closer, would certainly have rested between his eyes, right atop the bridge of his nose. A nose which was none existent upon Voldemort's face. Harry skidded to a stop, even as recognition bloomed in those bright red orbs and the man gave an almost toothy grin.

"Ah, Tom. Why does it not surprise me that you have managed to worm your way into existence?"

Before her, Tom gave a charming smile, rocking back on his heels whilst offering a nod of greeting to his older counterpart.

"Because it is essentially what those precautions were made for. I also happen to have made a new friend, meet Harry, a necromancer."

Voldemort's burning red eyes shot to her, and then focused right upon the scar that made her famous. Something a cross between a scowl and a smirk flourished across the man's lips before a yew wand was suddenly jabbed right beneath her jaw line.

Harry froze, her fingers twitching slightly by her sides. She knew Voldemort had come after her for a prophecy, her parents had told her that much. They'd never shared the wording with her, not yet, but had said Voldemort only knew the first few lines. Lily had been adamant it was a load of rubbish and she shouldn't let it control her life, and James had refused to tell her simply because Tom might then have a chance to rip it out of her skull.

Still, Harry wasn't fond of the fact magic was steadily building up in the wand point that was currently pressed into her tender flesh. She could feel her magic swirling in panic, responding to the perceived threat. A gravestone rattled off to a side, the ominous groan of a tomb slowly sliding open echoing in the tense silence. The blood irises left her own for a second, assessing the fact that yes, a skeletal hand was slowly rising out of the ground by the nearest grave-marker, before returning to her own.

The wand retreated and the skeletal hand dropped back, bones piling up now that all the strings pulling it about had been cut.

"So it's true, a necromancer. And tell me, Harriet Potter, Girl-Who-Lived, what do you think you are doing here?" Voldemort spread his arms wide open, but Harry didn't miss the fact the yew wand never strayed where it was aimed right at her.

"Tom implied you wouldn't mind having me around, and considering the Light would happily send me on a long walk off a short pier, I figured it was the best option. Fighting for my rights and all that. Yeah, go dark-side."

Tom scowled beside her and Harry couldn't quite hide the smile it brought to her lips. He seemed to think she should be enthusiastic about this war because she was a big figure head. Harry wasn't in agreement. Neither was Voldemort apparently, if the look on his face was anything to go by.

"Harriet Potter, wants to fight for me? You, the light saviour?"

Shrugging, Harry took a delicate hold of the snake fang by the side of her face, twisting it slowly back and forth.

"I've got nothing better to do."

Voldemort hadn't expected that answer, but when he looked to Tom, who just shrugged in return, he seemed to deem it good enough.

And so it was settled.

Harry Potter would fight for the Dark Lord's cause.

* * *

_**Wow, 43 reviews for the first chapter and 198 alerts? That's surprising.**_

_**So, Harry is not going to be massivly overpowered. She's missed official schooling, so she's going to be good and Necormancer and not so great and being a front line fighting in the usual duelling fights. But hopefully you'll see that as we go on. And her whole thought process and interactions with other people is ruined. Because I can't see the dead acting like the living, nor can I see them caring about much.**_

_**Sorry for any mistakes, it's late at night here,**_

_**Thanks for reading,**_

_**Tsume**_  
_**xxx**_


	3. After All, Tom Does

**Knock 'em Dead**

_**Chapter 2  
**__After All, Tom Does_

_x_

_24th June 1995  
_Hospital Wing  
Hogwarts

Albus Dumbledore didn't know whether to smile or cry. There was now so much to do, so much to think about and perhaps, just perhaps, they had a chance.

Looking down at the now prone figure of Neville Frank Longbottom, who was laid fast asleep in the hospital beds, he slowly took a seat next to the boy. Though the wound he'd suffered was wrapped up, Dumbledore could still remember the sight of it as if the scar was imprinted upon his mind. Dark magic had swirled out from the jagged cut like steam from fresh coffee. A prophecy resounded in his head, speaking of a child that would see themselves marked as an equal.

For so long he'd believe that to be the missing Girl-Who-Lived, the missing Harriet Potter. He'd search and searched, poured countless hours into looking for the girl but she had never turned up. There'd never been a new lead to follow, never a new clue on just where the girl had disappeared to. Her aunt, Petunia Dursley, hadn't been helpful at all. The blonde woman had just shrugged, nose stuck up in the air as she retold the story of the freak niece. The freak niece who'd always talked to herself before one day just walking out of the front door, never to be seen again.

He'd been so angry at the aunt for not paying attention to the girl, to the fact she was clearly considering to, and then had, run away. It'd left him in the dark, and then when the girl's letter had refused to be sent, and then the Ministry had been banging on his door... It hadn't been the best these last few years.

Especially when Olivander had sold that wand, the brother wand to Lord Voldemort's, and been unable to remember much about the little girl who'd purchased it.

But now.

Now there was another prophecy child, another one who'd been marked by Voldemort. Selected to partake in his re-birthing ritual. So perhaps, all was not lost. Neville would destroy Lord Voldemort. He must have had the prophecy wrong. This must be the point where the child was marked. Now he just needed to get the word out.

Things were once again, at long last, back on track.

* * *

_24th June 1995  
_Riddle Manor  
Little Hangleton

Harry could see why Tom had wanted to move in here over the option of the Gaunt Shack. Riddle Manor was an incredibly large building, for a muggle building that was not a castle and also over a hundred years old. It'd been empty for quite a while though, that much she was certain of. There was a great amount of dust all over the place, covering every surface with only a handful of trailing foot-prints breaking through.

Harry chewed her lip, eyes scanning the surroundings. It'd have been difficult to clean the place up, she was glad she'd fought so hard to stay in the Gaunt Shack, because that had only really been one room to look after.

The bare feet of Lord Voldemort seemed to all but ghost over the wooden floorboard, the man looking every inch the dark over-lord that he claimed to be. In comparison, were both herself and Tom. Tom in a simple button down white shirt, the sleeves rolled up to rest at his elbows and his shoes meticulously shined through the use of charm work. He looked like he'd just returned home from an important meeting, not joined the latest great revolution of wizarding kind. And she...

Harry looked down at her plain sundress, a pastel green that went along with the summery theme that her flip-flops implied. Okay, so she didn't look like a necromancer. The only thing that actually gave her away regarding her physical appearance was the trinkets in her hair. Most Necromancers had worn them as jewellery, like Cadmus had worn Death's stone upon his ring-finger. But so far all the items she'd collected were light, easy enough to tie into her hair.

That was probably why Voldemort's followers had looked so confused at her presence. At least Tom had looked 'respectful' in his dress, even if he weren't in wizarding robes. She looked like a 'wild-child' according to Cadmus.

And clearly the pure-blood followers hadn't been too happy about the presence of a 'silly little girl'. Luckily enough, both Voldemort and Tom had seen no reason to announce her name to them, so for now, she was pretty much off the hook.

Before they'd come up to the manor, Voldemort had caught hold of the blond one, Lucius if she remembered his name right, and informed him there would soon be three guests at his home. So it looked like they wouldn't be sticking around Little Hangleton for too long.

Harry hummed to herself, shifting her weight from one foot to the other nervously as she stood waiting. This was an unknown situation to her, she didn't know how to respond to a Dark Lord, and apparently the wrong response was quite painful, as shown when a follower had asked after her presence and been Crucio'd for his troubles. So, Harry turned to the one who held knowledge on the subject that was far superior to her's.

Tom was stood with his hands clasped pleasantly behind his back, eyes flickering across the room in a polite show of interest. The blond one had left now, disapperating away and leaving the room empty but of the three of them. And the snake of course. Tom gave her a sly look from the corner of his eye, one she'd long since learnt meant she should really keep her mouth shut. So Harry did as she was told, chewing on her lip and watching as the huge, man-eating snake slithered over to it's master.

"Our ancestral home," Voldemort sneered, spreading his arms wide and plastering a gruesome smile upon his face. Offering a smile far more pleasant in return, Tom rocked back on his heels.

"Oh, I remember."

"I suppose you do. After all, it's only just through those doors that our father was slain during his evening meal. I remember him daring to offer money. As if that was what I had came for."

"But he did beg so prettily when it became clear that money was not the objective of that little visit." Tom smiled again, it was cheerful and bright looking, but Harry could tell by the way the spirits of his grandparents swirled around him it'd been anything but a pleasant death. Tom had put all three unforgivables to use that day, that much was clear.

"How rude of me. I don't believe I've been introduced to our guest."

Harry stepped forwards, ignoring the slightly sharper intake of Tom's breath and giving a flourishing bow.

"I believe we've met before. But I am Harry Potter, Necromancer and Parselmouth." She caught Tom's minute scowl form the corner of her eye, wondering for a moment why he would do that. Voldemort's head had tilted to a side, much like a curious bird observing what may or may not be prey worthy of his attention. He drummed his fingers across the polished wood of his wand, frowning as he did so.

"Yes, the light would not like you very much, would they?" It was a rhetorical question, because Harry was certain the man already knew the answer.

"_Nagini, what do you think to our new guest?_" The huge snake twisted around to stare at her, rearing upwards. Harry reached out and ran her hand down the serpent's scales, marvelling at the powerful muscles beneath.

"_Her eyes match my scales Master_."

"_So they're as pretty as your scales? I am honoured._"

"_Oh, I like her Master_."

Tom gave a low chuckle at her blatant flattery, approaching before introducing himself to Nagini, Voldemort ordering that she should treat Tom as if he were her Master too.

Harry had been honest though, Nagini's scales were a truly beautiful shade, viciously bright against the dark wooden floor. If her eyes really did look that colour in real life, then she'd gotten pretty lucky then. She'd never seen anyone else with bright green eyes before. And those kind of eyes were attractive features, shop workers in the village had told her so.

A wand was pressed under her jaw line, forcing Harry to angle her head to a side and then back again as Voldemort inspected her face. The bone white spell-caster shifted her fringe to a side, tracing the scar which pulsed slightly at the proximity.

"The Prophecy no longer matters, not with you on side now. Tom."

The teen paused in his talk with Nagini, the duo turning around to look in their direction. Tom raised a brow at their proximity but approached nevertheless, fearless as his dark blue eyes locking with crimson.

"We shall have to come up with a relevant cover story."

"Already covered. There's that lovely patch between Morfin's release from Azkaban the first time and then his re-admittance by our hand, where he could have easily contributed to creating my fictional mother. For the sake of consistencies, lets keep the fact my mother was pure-blood and my father a muggle-born. I see no need to change the story. Making us first cousins, once removed. I happened to live in the same area that Harry's muggle family inhabit, and upon realizing who she was, stole her away in the middle of the night. We've been studying ever since. Mother dead in childbirth, father dead by my own hand. That should be enough, yes?"

Voldemort sneered, no doubt his brain whirling in an attempt to figure out why Tom wasn't going to be claiming to be pure-blood. Harry wasn't sure herself. She'd once been asked by the boy when she didn't care for her blood status, and she'd just shrugged and muttered she couldn't change things. If she lied, she'd be ashamed of both herself and her parents. And she saw no need to change herself to meet the expectations of others.

Maybe Tom had taken it as a personal challenge.

"We shall apperate to Malfoy manor. I am sure you remember the way Tom. _Come Nagini._" The huge snake, which Harry was beginning to suspect as magical, wrapped herself around her master, her huge head resting upon his should before the duo popped away.

Harry started at the empty space on the floor, the tracks the two had left in the dust before she turned to Tom. With his hand outstretched, the dark haired boy had a taunting smile upon her face, already knowing of her hatred for this form of magical transport.

"Shall we?"

Harry coiled her hands tightly around Tom's upper arm, ignoring the outstretched lower limb in favour of a secure hold. She could feel the lithe muscles move beneath her fingertips as Tom took out his wand, spinning on the spot. And Harry focused on not throwing up.

* * *

_24th June 1995  
_Malfoy Manor  
Wiltshire

Harry stumbled as they landed, the only thing keeping her from falling flat upon her face being her strong grip upon Tom's arm. She could feel his fingers prying her own off his limb and Harry forcefully let him go, running a hand through her hair.

"Broomsticks. They can't be worse than that."

Tom just hummed, as if simply playing along with her words when he really knew best. Harry could travel through the shadows, but that was only when she, or a nearby ghost, knew where they were going. Otherwise she could get spat out anywhere in the world, which had been a paid to get back from the one time she'd tried it and ended up in Peru.

A screech from the left had her reaching for her wand at the same time as her companion, but it was only a rather fetching looking peacock, strutting around as if the world were it's playpen. Tom scowled, sheathing his wand within it's holster and rolling his eyes at the sight.

"I had hoped that the next generation of Malfoys had gotten rid of those. Abraxas was abnormally fond of them." Without a word he began striding forwards, passing through the tall iron fencing as if it were nothing more than smoke. Harry wasn't going to follow him and expect the same thing to happen, instead placing a tentative hand to the gates and letting out a sigh of relief as they passed right through. Voldemort must have gone on ahead, or apperated directly into the manor, and then changed to wards to admit the both of them. She could feel the magic reach out and touch her own, recoiling instantly when they felt nothing but death there. Her magic was not built for friendly intentions, and would fight viciously with the magic of a living thing. That's why it was taking Tom so long to get good at true necromancy, he was unused to forcing his magic into a different state that it did not already know how to reach. Possible, but apparently took an annoying amount of both time and effort. She wouldn't know, having had access to it for as long as her memory went back.

A little creature met the two of them at the grand front door, squeaking slightly when Tom glided right by. Harry offered a dip of her head, watching as the little creature's eyes when wide. Oh right, the scar business.

"Miss Harriet Potter! Oh no! Missy should not be here!"

Harry lifted a finger to her lips, shushing the creature that was now tugging at it's ears, as if ripping them from it's skull would make her go away. She'd probably recoil in disgust, but she'd still follow after Tom. And what did it mean she didn't belong here?

"I am a Necromancer little one. Where do I belong if not here?" Sliding past the creature, Harry came to a stop beside Tom's prone form. Voldemort was stood in the parlour, looking around as Nagini chased after another of those little creatures, who seemed hysterical.

"My Lord."

Lucius, the blond who's home this had to be, made his way down the stairs, curious eyes sliding over both herself as Tom before coming to rest upon his lord. He knelt, made a big speech about thanking his lord for choosing his home as the base of operations, but Harry wasn't paying too much attention.

Instead, she was following Tom's gaze, who seemed to be assessing the woman making her way down the stairs. She was, well, beautiful Harry supposed. With long blonde hair, a graceful curve to her ever limb and a soft smile upon her face. She was in fact, very pleasant to look at, and Harry couldn't help but look down at her own body in comparison.

Sure she was still growing, but that didn't stop the sudden flood of inadequacy. Her breasts were perky, but not as big as this woman's, nor was her dress as beautiful. A simple sundress against what should have classified as a gown. It probably cost more than Harry's entire wardrobe. Her legs would never get that long, because Harry couldn't see herself growing to the same height as this woman. Tom's eyes didn't linger, merely assessing. But was this the kind of woman boys expected? She didn't know, but Harry hoped she'd be able to track this woman down for answers if they were indeed staying here.

"Lucius, Narcissa, my cousin, Tom Marvolo Riddle." Voldemort gestured lazily over to his younger counterpart, who offered a low nod of his head to the two blonds. Harry was sure had they not been pure-bloods and quite probably Slytherins, they'd have been open mouthed astonishment shown at how easily Voldemort admitted to having a family relation.

"Oh, and our Necromancer," Voldemort had approached her from behind, placing two cold hands on each of her shoulders.

Harry arched her neck, looking up at Voldemort. Come to think of it, he was even taller than Tom, easily a head between the top of her own and the man's chin. The woman, Narcissa, made a little noise in the back of her throat, probably at the way Harry was reacting to Voldemort come to think of it. But the man's curse upon her and not killed her before, and she could probably recover from anything else that was thrown her way. Tom had said she was valuable, would be valuable to the cause. So she doubted they'd injure her beyond repair.

"Yes, our little Necromancer. Lucius, Narcissa, meet Harriet Potter."

Now the two really did make a little noise of protest in their throats, either at the idea of her being a necromancer, or on their side, Harry wasn't sure.

"Narcissa will show you to a room little Harriet."

Harry frowned, flouncing towards the blonde woman but stopping beside Tom. She twirled around to Voldemort, offering a curtsey in her sundress with a smile.

"You may call me Harry my Lord. After all, Tom does." Turning to the younger male in question, Harry tapped him on the arm with a little smile.

"Lessons still on tomorrow?"

Tom hummed, the fingers on his right hand dancing along the edge of her forearm, before he teased, "I am sure that Mr Malfoy will be able to find us a room to practice in."

Harry turned to the man in question, registering the name of the family she was now staying with as she did so.

"Would you mind awfully? And if you have any dead peacocks they'd be a great help. I'm ready to be shown a room now." Bouncing over to Narcissa Malfoy, who seemed almost startled behind her mask at her enthusiastic approach, Harry grinned. And she was led out of the room.

.

Malfoy Manor, as it happened, was even bigger than Riddle Manor. And far more magical. There were all sorts of evidence all around, from the flowers vases painted with asps running along their edges, to the multitude of paintings upon the wall. Several of them greeted Narcissa by name, whilst the others tutted at Harry.

"Dear Merlin girl, what are you wearing?"

"Is that a bone in your hair, how uncouth!"

"Narcissa, would you please fix this tragedy?"

Harry frowned slightly, turning to look at the portrait on the wall that'd made that last comment. She stuck her tongue out, screwing up her nose in the most unrefined manner she could manage, the same expression that no doubt curled Tom's toes. Tom who'd spent a yea trying to beat decorum into her before giving it up as a bad job. What di the dead care for good behaviour? Nothing, so Harry could not see a reason as to why she should care either.

"Are all of my descendants uncultured swine? Girl, those as are Necromancer Focals, are they not?"

Harry skidded to a halt, twisting around to look at the latest artwork to address her. It was the oldest one there, she could tell that much, both by the style and the wear of both paint and parchment. The frame had been renewed, that much was obvious. Harry inspected the small golden place that lay upon the highly polished wood. 'Caecilus Malfoy, 1213-1274'. Ah. He was born just a year before her ancestor then.

"Yes, they're Focals. I suppose you must have met the Peverell brothers then?"

"Ha, I wish. Only ever heard of them, my father did meet them however, very powerful necromancers. A relation?"

"Ignotus is my ancestor," Harry mused, rocking back on her heels with a pleased look. Caecilus smiled back at her, a curious look to his face before he gave a short bow from within his portrait.

"Welcome to Malfoy Manor. I hope my descendants realize what an honour it is to have a necromancer stay here."

Narcissa led her onwards now, her lips pressed in a tight line, evident she was shorting through the obvious respect that a necromancer should be shown. Harry just blinked, waving goodbye to the nicest portrait she'd met so far, skipping after the older woman.

.

Tom and Voldemort were certainly held in a good light by the Malfoy family, if the room she was given was any indication. It was a large, delicate looking room. All the fixtures were expensive, you could tell from a single glance. The theme was a soft green, with refined silver decoration.

Harry let out a little breath as she walked in, slipping her sandals off as she went. She felt dirty now, stood within this room. Like she didn't quite belong here. Not in the sense that she was on the wrong side, more that this place was far too, high-ended for her wild-child self. Eyes tracing the sides of the room, Harry smiled slightly when she spotted a bathroom, itches to go and clean herself up, to bring her cleanliness up to the standards of her new surroundings.

"Is there anything specific that you think you'll need Miss Potter?"

Turning to look around at the Lady Malfoy, Harry worried her lip between her teeth.

"We didn't really plan on moving so quickly, is there any chance you have some clothing spare I could wear? I don't think your husband or Lord would take too kindly to me if I were to run about the place naked."

Narcissa frowned ever so slightly, drumming her dainty fingers against her thigh.

"I shall send an elf out for sleeping clothes and a new dress, but tomorrow I shall take you into Diagon and get you a whole new wardrobe."

"Oh. Thank you very much, for allowing both Tom and I to stay in your home. I know it was an order, but you've been pleasant about it anyway." Grinning, Harry spun on heel, bouncing into the bathroom and smiling lovingly at the tub.

A hot bath sounded marvellous.

* * *

Narcissa Malfoy née Black strode purposely through the corridors of her house, allowing the ancient magic woven into the walls to lead her towards her husband.

There was something distinctly unnerving about the girl she'd just shown to a room. It was only polite of her to do so, as the lady of the household it was important she show honoured guests to their correct room, all the while making sure they wouldn't go poking their noses where they had no business being. She didn't mind that part of the job, nor did she dislike the young teen she'd just placed in what used to be Bella's favoured guest room.

Harriet Potter had been pretty enough, would be if she ever did something with her hair other than stick trinkets within it. Her eyes were a beautiful shade of green, but ferociously piercing, almost as if they were taking her apart piece by piece. Just like the Dark Lord's, and the man's cousin.

A little hysterical giggle burst through her lips before she could compose herself.

The Dark Lord had a family.

Well, more of a younger cousin who was perhaps no older than eighteen, certainly very young. Their Lord had recognised him instantly, on sight according to Lucius. Which was strange, because the boy would have been no older than five when their Lord had fallen. A lot could change of a persons physical appearance within five years. What was even stranger was that the boy had turned up at the Dark Lord's re-birthing ritual with Harriet Potter alongside him.

There was an air about the girl that unsettled her, but Narcissa knew why. It was simply the girl's magic, naturally so dark it might as well have been black. She'd been a studious child, scouring the Black library while she could. She'd had a few months in which she'd been obsessed with the art of necromancy, mainly because she'd naively believed Bella to be one. She'd been wrong of course, but at least she knew a good deal about the subject which was actually going to come in handy whilst dealing with the girl.

Her magic felt uncomfortable to her because it had been touched by death so heavily. There was no other way for a necromancer to feel, according to the books she'd read. It was to be expected apparently.

Regardless, to have Harriet Potter on the side of the dark would be a great blow to their enemies, one Narcissa would take joy in delivering when the time was right. But she did have to get the girl some more tasteful clothes. And perhaps teach her how to behave in polite society.

For a second, Narcissa toyed with how Draco would take the news.

Her son, her precious son, had once proclaimed at the age of five that he was going to marry the Girl-Who-Lived, for she had to be the strongest witch around to take down a Dark Lord.

Lucius had almost suffered an aneurysm at the very idea, loudly informing Draco that the girl was a half-blood, and he would not allow the name of Malfoy to be sullied in such a way. Draco hadn't mentioned the idea again.

Narcissa paused outside the lounge room, one hand wrapped around the door handle.

Then again, necromancers were rare. Really rare. A well respected talent in the dark community. Maybe she should mention it to Lucius, because the Potters were a very old pure-blood family, Harriet was the first to hold a bit of muggle blood within her veins. As long as her offspring married well, then the muggle blood could be bred out, surely?

Shaking her head and pushing the thoughts back to speak about later, for she would surely need all of her wits about her whilst speaking with the Dark Lord, Narcissa pulled open the door.

.

Her eyes went to her husband instantly, for he was forever the first thing she would look for. His presence offered her a sense of security, one that she would forever be seeking out. Narcissa loved Lucius, had since her fourth year of schooling. Back when she had a pre-written engagement with the heir of the Nott family. But Lucius had actually talked his father into buying the contract out. It'd cost more than her dowry, but they'd been so in love. Still were. Narcissa would do anything for her family, which if that meant bending her head to the Dark Lord, to bowing this whims as long as he made the world a better place for her family, she would do it.

Seating herself carefully beside Lucius, Narcissa looked up at the other two males within the room. Her eyes, for once, were not drawn to the figure of the Dark Lord first, but instead to the younger man.

Tom Marvolo Riddle. Another half-blood in their house. But he did not look it. He was the picture perfect pure-blood heir, making lounging into an art form with the way he was reclined back in the plush chair by the fire, one hand lazily trailing patterns across the back of the Dark Lord's magnificent snake. His dark hair was held back in a loose tie, sharp, dark eyes taking her appearance in with a laziness that suggested he was the most dangerous thing in the room. If one did not count the Dark Lord after all. Their mannerisms matched, like two predators of the same species. Narcissa hated feeling like prey.

The raspy tones of Parseltongue came from the boy's lips, leaving no doubt that they were indeed a relation between him and Lord Voldemort, and the large snake that had arrived with their Lord slithered out of the room.

"I assume you have given Harry a bedroom worthy of her status?" The boy, Riddle, asked, pulling up the arm that'd been stroking the snake and resting his head upon his hand, the elbow upon the arm of the chair. Not even Draco, who'd been bred and raised a pure-blood, looked so graceful and at ease within his own home.

"Of course," Narcissa murmured, her eyes flicking to the door from which the snake had left. She prayed the beast wasn't going off to eat a house elf, it was a pain replacing the servants.

Riddle must have caught her glance for he smiled, sitting up straighter within his chair.

"Don't worry about Nagini, she was so insistent on getting to know Harry that it was all but impossible to keep her here any longer."

At this, Voldemort smiled, as if they were sharing an insider joke that the Malfoys were not privileged enough to know about. From the slight twitch in Lucius' jaw, he realized it too.

"My Lord, will Potter be able to handle Nagini?"

Now Riddle did laugh, a deep, almost seductive chuckle that had Narcissa's eyes widen slightly. For all that they spoke alike, the tones of the Dark Lord and Tom Riddle were different, one high and while the other smooth and dark. But both were just as captivating.

"You need not worry about Harry, Nagini is all but putty in her hands. It helps that they can carry a conversation."

Lucius registered the words faster than she could, because Narcissa was struggling to accept what had just been implied.

"You mean Potter is a Parselmouth?" Lucius breathed, his eyes almost blown wide in surprise as he looked between their two guests. Their Master grinned, tapping his fingers together and looking inordinately pleased with himself.

"Oh yes. Isn't it wonderful Lucius? The girl saviour, and she's born even darker than I was. A Necromancer and a Parselmouth? Looking back upon it now, it was good fortune that Harriet Potter did not die that night on Halloween. What a prize we now hold in our hands. Tom, I simply must thank you for bringing her to me."

Riddle smirked, taking out his wand and twisting it about in his hands.

"I shall need a new wand, it wasn't exactly possible to take money from my account at Gringotts, not without bringing the entire Ministry down upon our heads to find out just why I was accessing the family vault of Lord Voldemort."

Narcissa knew exactly who would be funding the boy's new wand, it was obvious even without the very clear look that their Lord gave Lucius. Narcissa didn't quite care for the boy's wand though. She was still focused on the last information bomb that'd just been dropped upon her.

Harriet Potter was a Parselmouth. A Parselmouth and a Necromancer.

Sweet Salazar, this was like every pure-blood's dream. Those two gifts together, the odds were astronomical. The fact she was a half-blood probably wouldn't even matter now, not with those two gifts. There was no way that Lucius would say no to her if she was to put the idea forwards now.

All she'd have to do was convince Draco it was the right thing, which shouldn't be too hard, and then see about getting Harriet Potter to accept the idea. That would be the tricky bit, trying to prove to the girl that Draco would be the best option for her.

A thought struck Narcissa and she held back a gasp.

It was painfully obvious though, that Draco wasn't the best option the girl had.

Slowly, she looked at the fire, or more specifically, the boy sat in the armchair by the fire.

Tom Marvolo Riddle would be the biggest obstacle if she were to pursue this idea. Sure the boy was a half-blood, but as Harriet was one herself, there was no doubt the girl would care little for blood status. He was a Parselmouth too, so the chances that they would create an offspring with the talent would be high too. And then there was the fact the other male had been living with Harriet for a good deal of time. Narcissa had noticed their closeness, how Harriet's eyes would seek out Riddle's form for reassurance, implying he was the only steady thing within her life right now. If Riddle decided to chase after Harriet with the intentions of marrying her, then Narcissa would have her work cut out for her.

And that was if the Dark Lord himself didn't get involved. Parseltongue was, after all, his signature trait.

"I'm afraid I must leave, it appears we left something of importance back in Little Hangleton."

"Oh?" Voldemort raised a hairless brow at Riddle's form, who'd stood up and stretched his arms above his head with a catlike elegance to the movement. At the curious murmur, the younger man turned to their Lord and grinned.

"Why Harry's familiar dear cousin. You'll certainly like him, he's a vicious little creature. I'd appreciate a room not too far away from both Harry and my cousin by the way." And with that Riddle apperated out of their room.

Narcissa grit her teeth at how rude the boy had been, but didn't dare to say anything. Because if by Voldemort's almost fond expression, their Lord would back his cousin before he would the Malfoys.

"You are dismissed Lucius, Narcissa. I shall take my usual room."

With that, the Dark Lord swept out of the room too, leaving the both of them sat almost dazed with what had just happened.

.

It took five minutes for them to gather themselves, ten minutes until they reached their room, twenty minutes to shower and dress in their sleeping clothes. Laid next to Lucius, staring up at the ceiling, Narcissa finally let out the small laugh she'd been holding in ever since their guests had arrived. Lucius, with his arm wrapped around her shoulders and fingers dancing along the tender flesh of her arm, let out his own light chuckle in response. It was the gentle tickle of his fingertips on her skin that reminded Narcissa of what she'd seen earlier that very day. When she'd been about to lead Harriet Potter off and she'd tapped Riddle on the arm. Riddle and ran his fingers across Harriet's arm in response.

"A Parselmouth." Lucius' low whisper broke her from her thoughts and Narcissa twisted her head to a side, allowing her body to follow the movement after a moments thought before shuffling up closer to her husband.

"You know, I recall a father telling his son there was no way on this earth he would ever allow him to marry the Girl-Who-Lived." A harsh breath tickled at her ear, but Lucius continued as if she hadn't interrupted him.

"A Parselmouth, and a Necromancer. The muggle blood can always be bred out. Those traits can not always be bred in."

"The Riddle boy will be a problem if you are seriously considering this," Narcissa reminded, gently tracing the sharp curves of her husbands face as she did so.

"He's not a pure-blood."

"Don't be absurd Lucius. Even as a half-blood he is the Dark Lord's family, evidently his only family. That gives him far more favour than we will ever be able to get. By marrying him, Harriet Potter would find herself safe from the Dark Lord's wrath. And he too is a Parselmouth. We can not lie to ourselves about the competition if you are serious about this idea."

"You are right, as always Narcissa."

Leaning forwards, Narcissa planted a kiss upon the nose of her husband, snuggling closer to his warm body.

"Let us think more of it in the morning husband."

* * *

**_Well, a better look at how Tom and Harry react to each other, and Narcissa has seen a golden opportunity. Of course, it won't happen in the end, because this is a TomxHarry story, but that doesn't mean the two Malfoys can't chase the possibility. I can't see them passing up the chance without trying at least._**

_**Apologies for any mistakes.**_

_**Thanks for reading,**_

_**Tsume**_  
_**xxx**_


	4. Just Don't Get Attached

**Knock 'em Dead**

_**Chapter 3  
**Just Don't Get Attached_

_x_

_25th June 1995  
_Malfoy Manor  
Wiltshire

Harry was awoken by a slobbering tongue lapping up against her cheeks, leaving a thick trail of saliva along her jawline in the process. Spluttering, Harry sat up, wincing as the tongue took one last lap at her nose before the beast responsible fell onto her lap. Looking down, Harry saw the angular snout of Iggy staring back up at her, it's dark eyes almost melting into the leathery black that was it's skin. Her Lethifold, her constant companion since that first and last shadow travel where she'd gotten lost Peru. The creature had adored her since they'd first laid eyes upon one another. It'd taken Antioch describing the fact Lethifolds were drawn to death for her to realize why Iggy wanted her as a companion. She'd named the Lethifold, her familiar, after Ignotus, and loved him ever since.

It hadn't been until Tom first discovered her and stayed far away from Iggy for the first few months that Harry had realized just how dangerous her pet was.

"I figured you'd miss him."

Sitting up, Harry turned to get a better look at the figure by her door. Tom was leaning casually against the door frame, a smirk on his face. His hair had been cut, by who she could not say, but it was once again styled the same as when they had first met. He looked just as pristine now as he did then. In comparison, she no doubt looked more of a state than usual, with her hair not only thrown about by bed-rest, but covered in Lethifold saliva. The saliva of a heavy Lethifold.

As if reading her thoughts, Tom continued.

"He's fed, I had to give him a muggle to get him out of the shack and apperate him here. I honestly don't know how you keep him under control. Also, I recommend getting dressed. Due to the events at the end of the Triwizard tournament, Dumbledore has asked all wizarding parents to collect their children. Which means heir Malfoy will be home shortly. It's nearly time for an early lunch."

And with that, Tom twisted back into the corridor, disappearing from her line of sight.

Running her hand down the leathery skin of her pet, Harry tapped it on the nose when Iggy attempted to take a nibble of her skin. Oh, they were good friends, but that didn't mean the little beast wouldn't try its luck whenever it got the chance. Standing up and stretching her arms above her head, Harry snatched up the pale green sundress she'd been wearing the previous day, now thoroughly washed by the Malfoys army of elves. The sleeping clothes she'd been given were far too big for her form, but Harry wasn't too bothered, as they'd been far comfier than anything she'd ever owned before.

Iggy's tongue licked at her hand once again and Harry scoffed, pushing the creature off the side of the bed and grinning at the muffled thump it created upon landing. The responding snarl had Harry dashing for the bathroom and only just managing to get the door closed before claws dug into the wood.

"Missed me!"

A growl echoed through the wood, followed by a long, loud gorging sound as Iggy drew his claws out from the wood. Harry winced, making a mental note to ask a house-elf to fix the damage. Hopefully her Lethifold would be curled up on her bed by the time she was done dressing, and not picking a fight with a yet to be introduced Nagini.

Or chasing down the Malfoy's peacocks.

.

Led to the dining room by a house elf, Harry thanked the creature, patting the front paws of Iggy's form that hung from her shoulders like a cloak. Her Lethifold was on the small side compared to the rest of it's species, it's cloak like torso reaching from her shoulders just past her waist, while it's long leathery tail hung to her ankles, several inches longer than her legs. Said tail was currently wrapped around her middle, ready to dislodge for the first thing that would catch Iggy's attention in the new room. That came in the form of Nagini, who slithered past towards her master. Releasing her shoulders, Iggy leapt to the ground, the little paws that laid at the edge of his fabric like body scuttling along the ground as he chased after Nagini.

"_Nagini, meet Iggy. Please don't eat him_." She didn't really need to give Iggy the same warning. As a Lethifold, he preferred human flesh to any other meal. However, he'd happily make do with any other form of warm meat as a substitute. Which meant the cold blooded Nagini should be safe. However-

"No eating people," Harry muttered as she passed the Lethifold by, patting him on the head as she went. Sat up to the rather large dining room table, Voldemort, Tom and Lucius watched her with a variety of looks. Tom seemed just as amused as usual whenever she was dealing with Iggy, and Lucius was looking between her at the Lethifold with a barely disguised mixture of both fear and awe in his eyes. Voldemort though...

"That is a Lethifold," the man mused, red eyes still focused on the cloth-like form of her familiar, who was currently resting against Nagini's still form. No doubt the snake was happy to have a warm blooded creature beside it. They could bond over being man-eaters, Harry had no doubt about that.

"Yes, meet Iggy. My familiar. I'd watch your digits near him, he still nips at mine and he likes me."

"Can you control that beast?"

Taking a seat beside Tom, who was sat to Voldemort's right, Harry looked across the table at the male Malfoy, smiling sheepishly as she did so.

"As long as he's fed often enough he won't take a chunk out of you, but that's as close as you'll get. He's only that docile because he can sense the death on me, and to a lesser extent, Tom."

"And this is because the both of you are learning necromancy?"

Nodding to Voldemort Harry watched with fascination as Nagini began to swallow the rabbit Voldemort had presented her with whole.

"Yeah, Iggy'll listen because he recognises the power that we've both been playing with. Speaking of which Tom, do we have a room to practice in?" However, it was Voldemort that answered.

"Lucius had set a room up. I wish to watch this lesson."

Before Harry could continue her questions, the door to the dining room opened once again and she looked up, ready to greet Lady Malfoy and who she assumed to be her son.

* * *

Draco Malfoy was not a happy wizard. In fact, he was a very, very disgruntled wizard. His mother had apperated into Hogsmeade station to pick both himself and his luggage up, from where as many students as possible had been all but kicked out of Hogwarts. Some form of emergency, he wasn't too clear on the details. The only person who ever told the Slytherins anything was Professor Snape, who they hadn't seen since the start of the tournament. So he'd faced his unusually grim looking mother and been prepared to all but demand answers, when the woman had just taken his hand and apperated him right into the main room of Malfoy Manor. The elves had rushed off with his trunk, but before he could once again open his mouth to ask for answers, his mother had shushed him.

"Dragon, sweet-heart. You need to be very, very careful now. The Dark Lord... The Dark Lord has returned, and he is staying here."

Draco's breath had caught in his throat, leaving him struggling to breath. The Dark Lord. He'd once claimed Longbottom would go the same way as his parents for being so outspoken. But right now, Draco would give anything for a bit more time. He wasn't ready to meet the Dark Lord. Not like this. But he didn't have a choice anymore.

"You need to make a good impression Dragon. Don't say anything without really thinking it through first, and don't insult our Lord's guests." Guests?

Draco hadn't had time to voice his confusion though, because he was bustled towards the dining room and before he knew it the doors had swung open. First, he'd looked for his father, locking eyes with the man who gave him a barely there nod, a sign he should inspect the other people in the room as soon as possible. Yet he was distracted when his mother dropped into a bow beside him, voicing a greeting to the Dark Lord. So Draco copied her, well aware of the sweat that was starting to form on the back of his neck.

"Ah, Narcissa. Draco. Come and join us." The Dark Lord paused then before turning to look at the large snake that laid upon the floor, which appeared to be wrestling over a shank of meat, with... Draco didn't recognise the magical creature on the floor, though he had a feeling it was just as deadly as the snake it fought with. The sharp tones of Parseltongue filled the air and Draco froze again, his mother's shoulders tensing from where she stood just before him. Looking insulted, the snake released the leg of what he was now sure had once been a rabbit, the cloth like creature gobbling it up with a raspy grunt.

"Draco," his father gathered his attention and the young Malfoy slowly took his seat, sat between his parents and opposite the two guests of the Dark Lord. A boy and a girl. The boy looked to be three or four years older than himself, with thick dark hair that held the slightest of waves. He looked as if he belonged back in the time his grandfather had lived in, all poised and suave. The dark blue eyes took him in, assessing, and then seemed to disregard him.

Draco felt a flush of anger but remembering his mother's warning, forced it down before he could start arguing. These two were guests of the Dark Lord, so they had to be important.

So instead, Draco let his gaze swing over to look at the girl.

Her hair was a mess. There was no other way of putting it. What appeared to be a snake fang was dangling beside her face, and there were several other trinkets tied into the wild tresses. But her eyes were rather lovely to look at. He'd admit it begrudgingly, but that wouldn't make it any less truthful. The colour was shockingly bright, the shape rather fitting with the rest of her face. He must have been staring slightly, for his mother gave a polite cough and Draco felt heat rise in his cheeks. But the girl just offered him a grin.

When his mother had said there were guests of the Dark Lord, he'd been expecting something, well, grander than two teenagers that looked as if they could still be in school.

"Draco," his father started, clearly tired of waiting for the two to introduce themselves, "meet Tom Marvolo Riddle. The Dark Lord's cousin." He clearly said that last bit so he wouldn't bring up the obviously muggle last name. Draco bit his tongue, forcing down the comment on that rested upon the tip of it. Do not insult the cousin of the Dark Lord. He might as well ask to be hit with an Avada Kedavra instead.

"And Harriet Potter." Draco's brain stopped.

Staring at the girl who was sat across the table from him, he could now make out the lightning scar almost hidden beneath the bird's nest now that he was looking for it. What could the Girl-Who-Lived be doing sat up to table with the Dark Lord? His confusion must have shown on his face, for the cousin of the Dark Lord, Tom Riddle, gave a deep laugh.

"You're not going mad, Harriet Potter really is sat up to table with Lord Voldemort. She just so happens to have sided with the dark."

Draco watched as the girl, Harriet Potter, flicked Riddle's prominent cheekbone.

"Don't bully him. Dumbledore would probably be able to wrap his head around this easier." Riddle smirked, running his hands along the Dark Lord's snake, which had now climbed up his chair with it's head brushing against the shoulder of Harriet Potter. Potter simply looked at the snake, who gave a hiss that had all three of the guests in the Malfoy household laughing. And to Draco's complete amazement, Potter hissed back to the snake, the Dark Lord's cousin also replying in a language Draco would never be able to understand.

And suddenly, he knew why his mother had wanted him to make a good impression. He'd known the Dark Lord was dangerous. And now he knew these two were as well. But that didn't stop him from watching in awe as Nagini curled around the chair Harriet Potter sat in.

He completely missed his mothers knowing smirk, and the narrowed eyes of Tom Riddle.

* * *

Harry was halfway through her instructions for Tom's revival of the dead peacock when it happened. A frighteningly cold hand snatched her right ankle out from under her, ripping her upwards till she hung upside down. Only a quick spell saw to it that the hem of her dress didn't fall in front of her eyes and instead kept her dignity.

"Thought you could just wander off without telling us where you were moving 'eh?"

Letting out a shrieking cry as Antioch's free hand ran up and down her ribs in a tickling motion, Harry flailed about, trying to wiggle free of his grip. It's was Tom's voice that saw the torture stop.

"I can hear him, but I can't see him. That's an improvement if I'm not mistaken."

Harry was brutally dropped as Antioch strode over towards Tom, looking down at the form of the dead peacock that the older teen was working on reviving. Sitting up, Harry rubbed wearily at her head, scowling as she did so. Antioch was always stringing her up by the ankles whenever she got something wrong, whereas Cadmus and Ignotus would just cuff her around the side of the head.

"What was that?"

Twisting to get a look at Voldemort, who'd been taking notes on everything she'd said, on every question she'd answered, Harry shrugged.

"That was Antioch. One third of my tutors."

"And he can physically hold you?"

"He could touch anyone if they're using the right magic. It's why Tom can hear him now even if he doesn't want to be heard by the usual people. He might introduce himself once he's done coaching Tom for the day. May I leave? Narcissa promised to buy me clothes."

Voldemort sneered, but gestured to the door regardless, getting to his feet and approaching Tom. Harry watched him walk right through Antioch, who snarled at the movement, Tom almost jumping in response to the noise.

Deciding that yes, they three would be okay without her, Harry flounced from the room, heading off to find the Lady Malfoy.

.

The Lady Malfoy was found in the ballroom, where she was talking to her son about some matter or another. Draco Malfoy looked very much like both of his parents, the typical Black eyes and the facial structure, while his hair was pure Lucius. He was pleasant enough to look at, which surprised Harry. She knew Tom was nice looking, that it was pleasing to look upon his facial features for a good long time. But Draco Malfoy was like the day to Tom's night. He was blond, very light blond, and his features were more of a delicate nature whereas Tom was the classic handsome. Or that's how one of the girls in the village had described him when the boy actually showed his face around town.

"Harry dear, has your, lesson finished?"

Nodding to the blonde woman, Harry rocked back on her heels slightly, hands clasped before her body and grinning as Nagini slithered past her, tongue dancing across the bare skin of her ankles for a moment as she passed by.

"Antioch has taken over for me, so I'm good."

"Antioch? My Lord did not mention he'd be bringing more guests."

"He hasn't. Antioch's dead, you don't need to feed him."

Waving off the older woman's concerns, Harry took another moment to inspect the Malfoy heir. He didn't seem pleased she'd ignored him in favour of talking to his mother.

"Good Morning heir Malfoy." Offering a lazy curtsey that Cadmus had all but drilled into her, Harry waiting for a response, which came in the form of a hand being held out before her.

"Draco Malfoy. It's nice to meet you Miss Potter."

Harry nodded, dipping her head as lips brushed against her knuckles. He was nice enough, but wasn't quite up to Tom's level of charms.

"Perhaps Dragon, you should show Harry the grounds while I finish up the plans? Then I'll be happy to take you shopping Harry dear."

* * *

"I don't like it." Tom was stared out of the window, frowning as he did so. He'd finished up his lesson not five minutes ago, the dead peacock successfully revived for a minute of time, which had seen his ghostly acquaintance leave their company. Or so Tom had said, informing him the dead necromancer was leaving to go and inform his brothers of the change of location.

Tapping his wand against his leg, Voldemort watched the younger version of himself, from the stern line of his shoulders to the determined set of his feet. He was not happy with something, that much was evident. But what? This was one of those times were he remembered exactly why he had cut this part of his soul off first.

"What do you not like?" Voldemort hissed, silently gliding across the room to stand beside his younger counterpart, looking out over the elegant grounds of Malfoy manor. His eyes were drawn to the blot on the landscape. Oh.

"Yes, the Malfoy boy did appear a bit weak at the knees during our introduction, didn't he?" Neither Lucius or Draco were anything like Abraxas. It was a shame the man had died five years prior, he'd been excellent and throwing the Malfoy name around to get results. Lucius had an idea, but not the brutal efficiency that Abraxas had managed to wield so effortlessly.

The muscle within Tom's jaw twitched slightly, the boy was grinding his teeth together.

"Not that. The boy is a spineless worm, I agree. Which is why I don't like the idea of him getting close to Harry."

Voldemort hummed, looking down at the Potter girl.

And hadn't that been a surprise.

The little girl saviour, the lights hope and symbol, a Necromancer and Parselmouth. How deliciously ironic, that their own propaganda and rules would drive her into his waiting arms. He didn't need to prophecy to win now, the child was already on his side. He'd won already. All he needed to do was take his prize. Even if it seemed like the girl was going to be a paint to put up with, he wasn't about to raise a wand against one of Death's chosen again. He wasn't that stupid, and contrary to what Dumbledore believed, he did learn from his mistakes.

"Parseltongue is a trait of our family. If they trick Harry into marriage then it will become a Malfoy trait." Yes, that was a very good point.

Voldemort did not want to see his family talent added to the Pure-blood Malfoys. Then they might start getting ideas, like they were important or something. That could not be allowed, at all. He'd seen the look in Narcissa's face when she'd learnt about the girl's gifts. Already she was trying to push the duo together, but Potter was blind to it all.

"I suppose I can leave you to deal with this?"

Tom hummed in agreement, eyes glittering with something Voldemort knew well. The boy had been the one to find Potter first, he'd all but claimed her company. He wasn't about to lose her to something as trivial as marriage. Especially to a pure-blood ponce like Draco Malfoy. Oh, the boy could try to win his affections, but Tom would forever be there to rebuff him. Potter being as clueless as she was would no doubt see nothing wrong and the boy would get nowhere chasing her. It was perfect. And yet...

"What do you have planned for the girl Tom?"

His younger counterpart cocked his head back slightly at him, offering a faux warm smile that betrayed the cool exterior beneath.

"We can't allow her to get away, she's far too important. But we can not allow her to die without offspring to carry on her gifts. And, you did say keep it in the family line, right?"

"Just don't get attached. Feelings are a weakness."

"I think I can act well enough, pretending to like someone isn't that hard after all."

Voldemort hummed, heading for the door, but not before pausing to look back at Tom's still form. He'd have to keep an eye on the boy. He was after all, only mentally a teenager. His new body would never age past it's prime. And those kind of hormones always led to trouble. He should know, he'd seen the mess they created at Hogwarts.

"Make sure you don't drive her away from us. Or you'll find yourself back in that diary."

* * *

_**This was suppose to be a longer chapter, forgive me. Can't write much more, it's bed time.**_

_**Thanks for reading,**_

_**Tsume**_  
_**xxx**_


End file.
